


You are my wicked thrill

by sarahcakes613



Series: Food Crimes [1]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Chef Rafael Barba, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Food blogger Sonny Carisi, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Sonny Carisi in a skirt, Twink Sonny Carisi, Unsafe Sex, Wall Sex, although it's pretty mild, crimes against steak, semi anonymous sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:29:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27088651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahcakes613/pseuds/sarahcakes613
Summary: Food blogger Sonny dresses like an angel for a themed party at a steakhouse. When he commits the double cardinal sin of asking for a well done steak and then saying it needs salt, the devil-horned chef decides he needs to be punished.Up against the wall. Without pants.It's just filth, people.
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr.
Series: Food Crimes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2000968
Comments: 17
Kudos: 71
Collections: Barisi Creatures Bingo





	You are my wicked thrill

**Author's Note:**

> This (VERY LOOSELY) fills the angel and demon squares on my creature bingo. VERY LOOSELY.
> 
> The idea comes from Kitchen Confidential, sort of.
> 
> Sonny is ~25 and Raf is ~35 here.

Sonny tugs at the hem of his pleated skirt, attempting to cover up another inch of his thighs.

“Leave it,” Amanda hisses, swatting his hand away. “You’re worse than my kid sister when she has to wear a church dress.”

“I still don’t see why I had to wear this,” Sonny gripes. “I thought we agreed on togas.”

“Angels don’t wear _togas_ ,” Amanda says, peering at her reflection in the subway window. She reaches up to adjust her fluffy halo.

“Yeah well, I don’t think they wear pleated miniskirts or corsets either.” He replies, flicking at the laces on her corset-style top.

He looks at them both in the window, casting a critical eye over their similar but contrasting outfits. They’re both dressed all in white, pleated miniskirts with feathery wings strapped to their backs. Amanda’s fluffy halo contrasts nicely with her honey blonde locks, whereas his is made of glittering tinsel that sets off the gleam of his dyed platinum hair. He’d drawn the line at matching corsets though, choosing instead to wear a plain tight white t-shirt

He double checks the invite on his phone. As popular food bloggers for MetroBuzz, Sonny and Amanda have been asked to check out the food at a steakhouse in Hell’s Kitchen. The Bronxin’ Buck is celebrating it’s first anniversary with a themed angels-and-demons party, which is the only reason Sonny’s wearing his sister’s tennis whites instead of his usual uniform of artfully-torn skinny jeans.

The restaurant is busy when they get there, crowds of people dressed in some way to reflect the theme. The hostess seats them at a small table with a view of the kitchen and pass. The restaurant knows reviewers are going to be here tonight, but not who they are, and the costuming allows them to hide in plain sight.

Amanda has the banquet seat facing the main dining room and Sonny’s in the chair with his back to the crowds. He likes being able to see the waitstaff swinging in and out of the kitchen with trays of food. He skims his eyes over what he can see of the pass. The chef in charge is a whirlwind of movement, tasting and correcting and adjusting every dish before it leaves his domain. Sonny can see a pair of sparkly red horns perched on his head and a thick dark beard. He looks like a crossroads demon from some late-night paranormal adventure movie and it’s a look that works for him. Yeah, Sonny thinks, he’d sign a contract if this was the demon offering it.

They order some appetizers to share, but the real star of the menu is the various cuts of steak on offer. Amanda chooses a peppercorn New York strip, medium-rare, with whisky sauce and grilled asparagus, while Sonny decides to splurge on the porterhouse with mashed potatoes and cauliflower.

“And how would you like that cooked?” The waiter asks, pen poised on his notepad.

“Well done, thanks.” Sonny closes his menu.

The waiter pauses, looking nervously over at the kitchen. “Are you sure you want it well done?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Sonny smiles at him.

The waiter jots it down, shaking his head as he turns to submit their ticket to the kitchen.

“I wonder what that was about,” Sonny says as he taps out some notes in his phone. “It’s not that uncommon an order.”

“It is here,” Amanda reminds him. “Chef Barba’s pretty old-school, he considers well done steak to be an insult to the chef. And the cow too, probably.”

“Look, you know I’m not one of those ‘customer is always right’ guys, but a chef should respect the patron’s flavour profile. I like a well done steak, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.” Sonny says.

They both jump when they hear a loud clanging from the kitchen. Sonny watches as the chef gesticulates before throwing his hands up, followed by their waiter rushing out of the kitchen.

“You don’t, but he definitely does.” Amanda comments, turning her head to watch as Chef Barba storms around the kitchen.

Their drinks come, followed by their appetizers, and Sonny puts the hot angry chef out of his mind as he compares notes with Amanda about the stuffed mushroom caps and crispy garlic shrimp.

When the steaks arrive, Amanda’s is plated beautifully, asparagus arranged delicately with the whisky sauce drizzled over the strip streak. Sonny’s has been thrown haphazardly on the plate, the mash half under it, soggy with sauce.

He grimaces for Amanda when she holds her phone up to take pictures of the presentation.

“Joke’s on him,” Sonny says, “I love a soggy mash.”

“You love anything you can eat,” Amanda points out. “It’s why you’re not allowed to review restaurants alone.”

Sonny waves her off and cuts into his steak. It’s cooked all the way through, and Sonny appreciates that even though he clearly wasn’t happy with the order, the chef has done what was requested, so Sonny gives him mental points for that.

He bites into the meat and chews thoughtfully. “It’s a bit under-seasoned,” he comments.

Amanda rolls her eyes. “The seasoning probably all burnt off when it went from medium to well done.”

Sonny looks around and notices something missing from their and every other table. He waves down their waiter, who approaches warily.

“Could I get some salt?” Sonny asks.

The waiter stares at him. Sonny stares back. The waiter blinks.

“You want…salt.” The waiter confirms.

“Yeah,” Sonny says. “My steak’s a bit bland.”

The waiter shrugs. “It’s your funeral, mate.” He mutters as he walks over to the pass.

“ _Tell him if he wants salt on his fucking shoe leather, he can go down the road to fucking Outback! And let him say it to my fucking face!_ ”

“I like Outback.” Sonny whispers. Amanda snorts.

The waiter reappears empty-handed. “I’m very sorry sir, but Chef Barba has expressed his personal dismay at the flavour of your steak and would like to personally invite you to the kitchen to discuss the problem.”

Sonny and Amanda exchange a wide-eyed glance. Amanda cranes her neck to look at Chef Barba glowering at them from the pass.

“He’s cute,” she comments. “I’m just going to say goodbye now. Send me your notes when you get home, assumin’ it’s tonight.”

Sonny curls his lip. “I’m not gonna fuck him.”

Amanda just looks at him, her eyebrow arched. He glances over at the kitchen and makes eye contact with the chef for the first time. The intensity in his eyes sends a shiver down Sonny’s spine and he grins at Amanda.

“Alright, so maybe I’m gonna fuck him.”

She scoops his mash onto her plate in response.

Sonny pushes away from the table and saunters towards the kitchen, enjoying the way the chef’s eyes widen when he sees the extent of Sonny’s angel costume. When Sonny walks through the swinging doors, Barba beckons him to the back door and leads him out to a private alley.

Even just briefly walking through the kitchen, the heat and steam soaks into Sonny’s skin. Barba’s wearing a dark red V-necked t-shirt that clings to him, damp with sweat under his arms and across his chest. Stepping out into the cool evening air, Sonny feels goosebumps rise up on his legs, but he’s distracted from his discomfort by what he sees when his eyes drop to Barba’s chest. The clinging fabric combined with the cold air is showcasing his hard nipples and Sonny can see the outline of barbells in both of them.

“I can’t decide what’s worse, kid,” the chef says, lighting up a cigarette. “The fact that you ordered a porterhouse well done, the fact that you asked for salt, or the fact that neither of those things are stopping me from wanting to fuck you up against the wall.”

Sonny normally resents being called kid, but Barba’s beard and thick arms are a walking daddy dream, so he decides to run with it. He boldly puts his hand on Barba’s stomach, dragging his fingers up to pluck at one of his nipples through the shirt.

“Yeah?” Sonny asks, making his voice breathy. “You want to punish me for crimes against food, daddy?”

Barba inhales deeply and blows a thin stream of smoke up to the sky, then drops the cigarette on the ground and stubs it under his heel. He walks forward, crowding Sonny until his wings are crushed against the wall.

“Oh sweetheart,” Barba’s voice is low and rough in Sonny’s ear, “I’m going to ruin you.”

He crushes his lips against Sonny’s, plunging his tongue into Sonny’s mouth, devouring him from the inside. Sonny moans into the kiss, his hands gripping Barba’s biceps. Barba’s hand slides up his thigh, lifting his skirt, and gropes his ass.

Both of his arms wrap around Sonny’s waist and lift him off the ground. Sonny grunts into the kiss, crossing his legs behind Barba’s back. His skirt is pushed up and Barba grinds against him, zipper pushing against the thin fabric of his briefs.

Sonny’s head falls back, and he arches his chest. Barba’s mouth is leaving burning-hot kisses into his jaw and down his neck and collarbone. He bites and sucks and Sonny gasps at the bristle of scruff against his sensitive skin.

Barba brings one hand down to Sonny’s stomach, pushing his shirt up over his chest. He’s using his other arm and his thighs to keep Sonny up and the casual show of strength is doing everything for Sonny. He bucks his hips against Barba, pushing his hardness against the other man.

The chef drags Sonny higher up the wall and drops his head to lick at Sonny’s nipple, tugging gently with his teeth at the small gold hoop he finds there. Sonny gasps again, Barba’s mouth is hot and wet and the sucking pressure makes his breath catch in his throat.

“Sweetheart,” Barba whispers in his ear, his fingers dipping into the waistband of Sonny’s briefs, wriggling down into his cleft. “You going to let me fuck you out here? Let me open you up and slide you down on my thick cock? You going to be daddy’s good little angel?”

Sonny bucks hard almost involuntarily and he nods frantically. “Yeah, yes, we should definitely do that.”

Barba laughs. “Reach into my pocket, baby.”

Sonny fumbles, digging his thumb and forefinger into the tight front pocket of Barba’s jeans. He pulls out a single use packet of lube and huffs. “You’re like a bad boy chef cliché, aren’t you?”

Barba grinds hard against him. “I don’t hear you complaining, sweetheart.”

Sonny shakes his head. “I’m really not.” He rips the packet open with his teeth and squeezes most of the contents onto Barba’s offered fingers.

The fingers return to his ass. The lube is warm from having been in his pocket in the hot kitchen and his first finger slides smoothly into Sonny followed quickly by a second. Sonny barely has time to catch his breath as he adjusts to the stretch before Barba is thrusting in short jabs, spearing and spreading him.

Sonny fumbles with Barba’s zipper, distracted by the hand on his ass and the tongue on his nipple. When he finally yanks it open, he somehow isn’t surprised to find the chef goes commando, and he pulls the man’s cock out and moans at how thick and heavy it feels in his hand.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Barba moans. “You’re going to feel so good split on my cock.”

“I’m ready,” Sonny says, rolling his hips. “Fuck my ass, daddy.”

Barba’s hand withdraws and he takes the lube packet, squeezing the last bit out onto his dick. He spreads it around and then hikes Sonny up a little higher on the wall, spreading his legs wide and tugging his briefs down. He plants his feet and guides himself to Sonny’s ass and then slowly, so slowly, he pushes his way in.

Sonny wants to cry at how deliciously the stretch burns, he can feel every inch and he swears he can even feel the thick vein in Barba’s cock as it pulses inside him. He doesn’t stop pushing until he is balls deep and then he stops, just standing there with Sonny tight around him.

“Fuck – fucking _move_ ,” Sonny hisses, gripping Barba’s hip tightly and kicking him with the heel of his foot.

Barba pulls out deliberately slowly and then thrusts back in with just as little hurry. He lasts all of three slow push and pulls before he grinds hard, keeping his cock inside Sonny’s heat.

“So fucking tight,” Barba repeats, gasping against Sonny’s neck. He sucks on the column of Sonny’s throat and then rubs his cheek along it, roughening up the reddened skin even further.

The contrast of Barba’s warmth and the cool air, the smooth glide of his cock and the rough drag of his beard, Sonny feels like he is teetering on the edge of a cliff and all it will take is a single breath to tip him over.

Barba widens his stance, pushing Sonny’s thighs up. His next thrust feels impossibly deeper, and his cock fills Sonny, the head prodding against his prostate. A sharp white light fills his vision and he cries out, moving one of his hands from where he has been gripping Barba’s shirt to wrap around his dick.

He barely needs to jerk his cock before he is spilling hot and sticky against his stomach.

“You need me to pull out?” Barba asks gruffly, and Sonny shakes his head.

“Keep going,” he pants, “wanna feel you come in me.”

Barba tightens his grip on Sonny, one hand on his hip and the other bracing himself against the brick wall. He starts going harder, jackhammering Sonny’s prostate, and Sonny clenches down, squeezing Barba’s cock.

“You want it?” Barba asks, “You want me to fill you?”

“Yeah, come on, do it.” Sonny urges.

Barba groans and Sonny feels the warm liquid rush as Barba’s come shoots deep in his ass.

“Wish I had a plug,” Barba comments as he slowly pulls out of Sonny and lowers him to the ground. “I’d send you home with my spunk still in your ass. Turn around.”

Sonny turns to face the wall and Barba slaps his ass, prying his cheeks apart to watch his spunk drip down Sonny’s thighs. He then pulls Sonny’s briefs back up, and almost gently strokes the skirt back into place.

“Your wings are a bit crooked,” Barba comments, prodding at the bedraggled feathers.

Sonny wiggles out of the looped elastics and chucks it over to the nearby dumpster. “When a demon fucks you so good you become a fallen angel,” he jokes, reaching up to adjust the horns that are still sitting askew on the chef’s head.

The chef pulls another cigarette out of his back pocket and lights it, leaning against the wall. “So, what’s your name?”

Sonny blinks and thinks back over their entire interaction. Not like there was really time for introductions between the frustration and the fucking, he guesses.

“Sonny,” he says.

Barba looks him up and down. “Yeah, you look like a Sonny,” he waves his cigarette at Sonny’s entire being. “All twinky n’ shit.”

“What does that make you?” Sonny retorts. “What kind of name does daddy chef Barba have?”

Barba laughs. “Call me Raf, kid. Although,” he leans in closer, “I think I like the idea of you calling me chef.”

Sonny nips at Raf’s ear and whispers, “yes, chef.”

Raf groans and pulls away. “Much as I’d like to revisit that right now, I have to get back in there.” He flicks his cigarette into the dumpster. “You should come back sometime, and I’ll cook you something fucking proper.”

“What about breakfast?” Sonny asks, biting his lip and peering at Raf through a tangle of eyelashes.

Raf puts his hand on Sonny’s neck and brings him in for a hard biting kiss. “Any meal you fucking want, kid.” He steps back to the door and bangs on it to let his crew know he needs to be let in. “Tell you what, if you’re here at 2 AM, I’ll take you home and make you the best pancakes you’ve ever had.”

“2 AM,” Sonny repeats. “Yes, chef.”

Raf throws him one last hungry look as the door opens and he vanishes inside.

**Author's Note:**

> Fuck responsibly, gang. If you're going to have sex in an alley with a man you just met, make sure he's got a condom on. Remember: no glove, no love!
> 
> Also, I definitely have some ideas for follow-ups to this story so keep an eye out for those in 2021.
> 
> Also also, I've only been to Outback once and I'm sure their steak is fine. I was a big fan of the giant fried onion. Thank you to everyone who gave me ideas for steak dishes. I've never eaten steak in my life. 🤷🏻♀️


End file.
